


Tied Up

by entanglednow



Category: Chuck (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-27
Updated: 2008-11-27
Packaged: 2017-10-27 19:10:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/299105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time it was, admittedly, more than a little terrifying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tied Up

The first time it was, admittedly, more than a little terrifying.

In Chuck's, fairly limited, experience nothing good came from having a bag put over your head, and being driven to an unknown location. He was only _slightly_ less worried when the bag was pulled off of his head to reveal Casey and a totally nondescript warehouse. Totally nondescript warehouses were not good places to be.

"Look, Casey, fun as this is I could be doing - oh I don't know, _hundreds_ of other things that don't involve me being tied to a chair, and threatened with as yet, un-divulged torments. And when I say that I mean of course, please _don't_ divulge them, if you're planning on them, because I'd rather remain blissfully unaware, if there are going to be sharp objects involved."

Casey rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Bartowski."

"Why am I tied to a chair?"

Casey kicked out another chair, and then sat down in it.

He put his hand in his pocket, and pulled out - Chuck braced himself in case it was something awful - a stopwatch?

"I've had enough of you not knowing at least the very _basics_. Which is why we're not leaving, until you can untie yourself from that chair in under two minutes."

"What?" Chuck said flatly.

"You, the chair, getting out of, your time starts now." Casey stabbed his thumb down on the top of the stopwatch.

"You have to be kidding me. Springing impromptu practical tests on people isn't nice, I haven't even practiced, no one's ever told me how to get out of a chair-slash-bondage situation!" Chuck instantly regretted phrasing it like _that_ but it was out, so he might as well ignore it.

Casey grunted, in a way that managed to perfectly convey the fact that Chuck was _not_ getting untied any time soon.

"Come on!"

The stopwatch was proffered in his direction, ticking like a smug little general of doom.

"Can I at least get some sort of hint, I don't work well under unexpected pressure."

"No, I'm not dropping this until you can untie yourself in under two minutes." Casey scowled at him.

Chuck thought about protesting that two minutes was really going to be improbable, considering how long it had taken him to learn to tie his own shoelaces. Casey just stared at him, in that utterly implacable, incredibly annoying way he had. Chuck grumbled horrible complaint under his breath, and tried to get some idea about how exactly he was tied up. Since his hands were behind him, that turned out to be a lot harder than it looked. Or didn't, he had no clue. He settled for enthusiasm and wriggling.

Then more enthusiasm. Then even more enthusiasm, of a considerably more annoyed nature. It turned out that last bought of enthusiasm was maybe a little _too_ enthusiastic. And gravity took both him and the chair down sideways. He wasn't exactly a stranger to falling over while tied to a chair, but he'd never really experienced it on concrete before.

It really, really hurt.

"Ow!" Chuck said. " _Oh my god, OW_!" He thought his eyes might have been watering, just a little, he also thought he might have still been vibrating.

"I think I broke my face," Chuck told Casey, from where he was squashed into the floor. "Can you break your face?"

Casey untied him after that.

  
***

  
The second time involved less surprise, but Chuck was indignant about it nonetheless. Mostly because it happened with no warning, and in his own kitchen.

"Aren't you and Sarah always complaining that I do the most damage when I'm off recklessly being heroic, and trying to do stuff on my own. I think it's safer for everyone involved if I _can't_ escape. So you always know where to find me - and that sounded much less cowardly, depressing and useless in my head."

"Two minutes," Casey pointed out.

"Oh come on! The first minute didn't even count, I wasn't even trying, I was still aghast at being kidnapped and held prisoner in my own home. And just so you know I'm not happy _at all_ about that. This was supposed to be my safe space. We had the talk and everything."

"This isn't going to stop until you can get out of restraints in under two minutes." Casey glared, because, in his world, apparently tying someone up wasn't quite threatening enough.

"Some days I have trouble getting out of bed in under two minutes," Chuck complained.

"Then maybe you should wake up somewhere less comfortable," Casey said threateningly. "Like the trunk of a car?"

"Because clearly I don't wake _screaming_ in the middle of the night often enough already," Chuck said, half aghast at the suggestion and shaking his head even through the words, just in case saying _no_ didn't quite penetrate Casey's, frighteningly well-armoured, head. "Could you at least pretend to hide your sadistic streak when I'm tied to a chair, please."

Casey did the glaring thing.

Chuck glared right back at him, and made a concerted attempt to get out of the rope Casey had tied his wrists with, though not with too much enthusiasm, lest the situation become painfully familiar.

"I think I've cut off all the circulation in my hands...that doesn't actually happen does it?" Chuck stopped moving his hands just in case. "Also, you do realise you're incredibly good at tying things up right? And yet, I'm something of a beginner at escaping. Couldn't you have gotten an amateur to tie me up. I think that would have been fairer." He appeared to have gotten to some stage where his hands would no longer move.

He had apparently tied himself up _tighter_...how the hell had he managed _that_? He thought he better tell Casey, because he was fairly certain that even an intersect needed hands.

  
***

  
Chuck spent a lot of time carefully skulking around the Buy More until he worked out that tying him up at work was clearly cheating, in some sort of strange spy-like way, that Chuck never quite understood, but it was nice to have boundaries.

 

***

The third time involved duct tape, that horrible cat tongue drag of plastic and tackiness, against the front of his mouth and Chuck decided that _that_ was a step too far, and did nothing but breathe displeasure through his nose, and glare meaningfully at Casey, until he got a dramatic eye-roll and access to his hands again.

  
***

The fourth time was more of an 'on the job' training type of thing. Where Chuck learnt that though Sarah disapproved of the whole, vaguely twisted, 'secret tying Chuck up' thing going on, she agreed with the eventual goal behind it.

She accused Casey of going about it in a vaguely sociopathic way, but she didn't exactly object.

 _She didn't exactly object_.

Chuck felt mortally wounded.

  
***

  
He skulked around the Buy More and avoided them both for a week.

  
***

  
Chuck sighed into the pillow.

"Don't you think you're taking this a little too far?" he asked, without even bothering to open his eyes. He could sense Casey's serious face a mile away.

Chuck changed his mind, rolled over, and opened his eyes.

It was three a.m.

"Could we just tie me up tomorrow? I have to be at work early in the morning."

"You take all the fun out of everything," Casey complained. Chuck closed his eyes again.

"You're still not getting that this _isn't_ fun for me, are you?"

"I could _make_ it fun for you," Casey said smoothly and he even made that sound like a threat.

"You're terrible at fun," Chuck pointed out. "You're the kryptonite of fun, you're - what are you _doing_?" Chuck's brain had slid sideways because, rather than putting another devious plan of kidnap, into action, Casey put one knee on the bed, swung the other over his hips and sat on him.

Chuck had a brief moment to be bewildered, before two large hands dug under the sheets and found the hem of his t-shirt. And, in a movement Chuck was sure he should be protesting in _some_ way, he started dragging it up, knuckles sliding suddenly and shockingly up Chuck's ribcage. He pulled it all the way over his head. Then kept going, dragging both of Chuck's arms together in a sleepy tangle above him. Then Casey twisted it, cheap cotton digging in to his wrists as it pulled them together on the pillow.

"This isn't rope," Chuck said faintly, because he needed to say something.

"I'm improvising," Casey's voice had gone impossibly deep, and Chuck could feel it curling under his skin where they were pressed together. And his bedroom wasn't quite as warm as it had been, now he'd lost half his clothes to...spy training?

"Oh," Chuck tipped his head back to see, which was mostly a failure. "Why did you...?"

Casey stretched his arms up, pressed them back into the pillows, and crushed the noise he made with his mouth.

The sheets somehow ended up down the end of the bed, tumbling over his feet, which Casey nudged apart in one slow movement, while he encouraged Chuck's mouth open in a series of quick, dirty aggressive pushes that Chuck was fairly certain he didn't want to _ever_ stop. But that should mean something, something that nagged at the edge of Chuck's brain. He couldn't quite work out what, he was too busy trying to breathe under that press of chest, and the dig of fingers into his bare arms.

He tried to lift them, to dig his twitching fingers into Casey's back, before he realised he _couldn't_.

"Get out of it," Casey demanded, and Chuck swallowed and pulled, but it wasn't like rope, it was tight, and thick, and endless.

"I can't."

"You have two minutes." He was reminded, hard and unforgiving.

Casey was heavy, one solid line of weight, pressing Chuck down into the bed. And Chuck thought maybe he was holding him there more effectively than his t-shirt. And that was both unfamiliar and not, the way Casey's thigh pressed down and in, made everything not quite as escape-related any more.

"I can't," Chuck insisted, and Casey's hands slid up his forearms, pressed down over the twist of fabric. And then he was kissing him again. Less carefully than before, and for lack of any other form of either protest, or encouragement Chuck kissed him back. Everything got very confusing after that, though Casey had to pull his own shirt off, what with Chuck's lack of hands, Casey seemed to like the begging though, begging seemed to work.

"I really can't -" Chuck complained again, when he discovered that he was incapable of shifting pants with his knees.

There was a grunt, and a flat noise of amusement.

"You're the one that wanted to be tied up."

"I know," Chuck complained breathlessly against the straying edge of Casey's mouth.

...

Chuck woke up in the dark.

He blinked, stared at the clock.

It was still three a.m.

  
***

  
John Casey had evaded the annoying customers for just long enough to make a circuit of the store, checking the entrances and the security without being side-tracked by any confused electronics-purchasers.

He was just about to go and stand by the entrance and glare at the people entering the store when Chuck attempted to corner him by the high end plasma TV's, in a way he probably thought was threatening.

"You're making me _wrong!_ " Chuck accused loudly and bewilderingly, and then stomped off in his ridiculous flippy, floppy shoes.

Great now _everyone_ was looking at him.


End file.
